Perfect Asylum
by MomentoMori2
Summary: There is nothing more deceiving than the evidence.
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

_"Shut up, Malfoy!" Hermione said loudly._

_"Don't make me laugh, you little Mudblood" he answered mockingly, titling his head. She clenched her fists in annoyance, ready to hit a boy directly into his smug face, wanting to tear him apart with a single move, to break every tiny bone in his body, to curse him with the Cruciatus curse, to rip him up. The hate was almost unbearable; she was filled with it to her very core, the hate was the main liquid in her veins, not the blood. The Mudblood blood! Slytherin smiled knowingly. Bloody bastard._

_"Don't call her like that" she heard a furious voice behind her. That was Weasley." You stupid Death Eater."_

_The smile on his face faded immediately. Who that fuck thought he was? Now that was his turn to become angry. And oh, he was really pissed off. These fools, they were so annoying. Especially Granger. How could she be so proud of herself? Of her parentage? Of her marks? She was just a little suck-up, after all, nothing to be proud of. He was annoyed just because of her very presence. _He_ was the one who could be proud of himself. He was perfect, indeed. Not that stupid bitch._

_A sudden thought occupied his mind. That thought was almost thrilling, painfully sweet and seductive. He smirked darkly. Yes, that would definitely be the best thing he could do. How'd do that if not him? A filthy punishment for the filthy people._

_Gryffindors were aware that he was up to no good, but that was nothing to worry about. He was alone against three of them, after all. What could he do? But like it always happens, he did what nobody was expecting._

_"Sectumsempra!" shouted Malfoy. The red curse was about to hit Harry right into his chest when…_

Hermione awoke in the middle of the night, clenching her fists painfully. There was no wand in her right hand, nor did she was in one of the Hogwarts' corridors. She sighed in relief. That kind of stupid dreams followed her every night for about a week. And Granger still didn't know why those memories – they had to be the memories, they were too real, her emotions and feelings were too valid – were so strange and surreal.

A girl closed her eyes, leaning to the wall. She was exhausted – the whole week without normal sleep was not as easy as she thought the insomnia could be. Crap.

Seeing no other option, she lay back on her bed, trying to fall asleep, thought Hermione didn't feel like sleeping at all.

That dreams weren't actually the nightmares, they were just strange and odd. It was hard to believe in the story they told.

After few more hours she finally fell asleep. Though it wasn't long, just two hours.

* * *

"You look bad. Something happened?" Parkinson said indifferently just to fill the silence.

"Have a bad sleep for a week, nothing serious" Granger answered as indifferently as her classmate, sipping the pumpkin juice. Pansy asked that question almost every morning, it was like a ritual. Not a pleasant one, but at least habitual.

"Uh-huh. See you later on Potions" said Slytherin, rising from her seat. She had already finished her meal.

Hermione shrugged unconcernedly, continuing her breakfast. She didn't feel like chatting. She never felt like chatting, actually. It wasn't done in Slytherin. If students started talking animatedly, that always looked strangely. It wasn't as purebloods behave. Having friends wasn't normal too. It was normal to have acquaintances, yes, but not friends. Everybody knew that people were always about to betray each other. They didn't need any friends. They were not the bloody Gryffindors, after all, they _did_ have dignity.

"Good morning, Granger" Draco greeted her.

"Morning, Malfoy" she did the same, thinking that this was so unlike of her dreams. But dreams were just the dreams, didn't they? Unconsciously, she turned her head to the Gryffindor table. Everybody was talking, sometimes there were burst of laugher there and there. Stupid gits, how could they be so careless? Her eyes stopped on Weasley, Potter and Longbottom. The Golden Trio, pf. Three morons. Thinking that she became sentimental, Granger stood up with perfectly straight back and high raised head.

The Potion time, Snape would be proud of her new invention.


	2. Chapter 1 Tell Me Your Dreams

**Chapter 1. Tell Me Your Dreams**

Hermione didn't know the people who were sitting on the bench near the Hogwarts' lake. She was sitting there too, reading the book and smiling sometimes. The conversation between those two red-headed twins was really interesting, though she didn't participate in the actual talk. Granger was just listening attentively, snorting sometimes, when guys became too pompous. They were really amusing, but she didn't feel like talking, she just wanted rest. Yes, in that memory she definitely was having a good time.

"You know, Fred" one of the brothers said "I want to write down my dreams, at least hundred of them."

"For what?"

"They are so interesting. Something prompts me that, perhaps, someday they'll be interesting for many people. In our dreams we get the mysterious inspiration, deep value, which, having extremely powerful inertia, affects us for the long piece of time. Sometimes we remember for years the details of the one particular dream, and this dream inspires us during the whole life."

When George wasn't joking it really seemed rather strange. Then perhaps, it really _was_ a dream. Because why would she ever know if not joking Weasley looked odd? Just a dream. An interesting one.

"You know, George, I have been pondering for the long time about the nature of dreams. Dreams don't have the beginning. A dream starts – and it suddenly becomes clear that it has been lasting before… as if you're watching the continuation of the strange infinite serial."

"From whom do you know about the muggle serials?" that was the only Hermione's question, though she didn't quite understand what she had said.

"From Dad, of course," red-head answered in such a tone, as if the answer was obvious. And it really was. But now the question was that, from whom _she_ did know about that thing. Hermione didn't actually bother about that, it was just interesting for her. The calmness of the surroundings was quite relaxing, things and thoughts were just floating near her, making a peace even more comfortable.

"Listen, mate!" George nearly jumped, completely ignoring a chat between Granger and his brother. "You have perfectly understood what I was talking about! You're absolutely right. Dreams don't have the beginning, and at the same time they don't have an actual end. They are like an endless serial. Once awakening and again falling asleep, one can see the sequel to this film."

"Even more," Fred picked up the conversation, "in fact, dream never ends. After the long period of time, after days, months and even years, one can see the continuation of the serial-dream. There is also a special subconscious commentator, who explains the missed events, situations, even a plot altogether. There is also an infinite quantity of the serial-dreams. And the most interesting thing is that the plot of the each fragment is poorly bounded to the main plot of actual dream and is strongly bounded to the previous episode. That is why the changes of the internal projections are so frequent – woman can change into a cat, umbrella can become a table, a lake can become a forest…"

"I agree with you," continued Fred animatedly. Hermione was smiling widely. Their point was quite interesting and versatile. She was no longer reading a book, completely engaged in the topic. It was strange – this time she knew she was dreaming and that was quite amusing to talk about _dreams_ in a dream. Somehow she knew that these two guys were important for her. As many other Gryffindors, though. It was odd – in the real life her relationship with the members of this faculty was quite cold. In the dream, on the contrary, this wasn't disgusting, it was warm and comfortable. But who were those Fred and George? Weasley? She didn't know, and it didn't matter at all. With a content sigh, Granger continued to listen to the story. It was the dream, after all. It is normal to be happy in dreams.

"I agree with you," Fred said again. "This incomprehensible transformation has its own logic, but this logic is timeless, ruptured, without a context, and only in some cases it is irrational. But the logic of the whole serial doesn't disappear, it makes the integral mosaics in the long time."

"It seems to me, that the dreams themselves are timeless. They don't have cosmic, universal time. But with regard to the people's consciences they are going on in the real time. Perhaps, that's why there is such an illogic…"

Fred was completely carried into the stratosphere of his own complicated logical constructions and ponderings and it was hard to stop that stream of consciousness.

"Listen, have you ever thought about the cause of the retardation? In dreams everything seems to be slower, more vaguely, more anointed – it is hard to make a move in the dream, neither by arm, nor by leg. It is hard to run somewhere, to shout…"

Hermione suddenly felt the urge to make a harsh move. And she did so, standing abruptly. Then with same abruptness she sat down. And no, it wasn't any hard. Suddenly her mood changed completely. She wasn't used to such changes, and this fact irritated her even more. That was too swiftly to think about it. Fuck, this dream started to irritate her. Why couldn't she relax even in her own sleep? Why couldn't she control her own train of thoughts? She never had such a situation in her normal life. In her _real_ life. Something started to bother her. It was obvious that there were no Weasley twins, every pureblood knew it. The remaining Ron Weasley was quite an annoying character, being the only child in his family, but that was it. No twins. It was obvious that the conversation between two brothers was nothing more than the dialogue with her subconscious. That was annoying. Her mind deceived her. A few weeks like that and she'd become the next insane Albus Dumbledore, Hermione realize. At first glance those dreams were harmless, but they were somehow disturbing, something evil was rushing towards Hermione. She snorted in disgust, returning to the imaginary book. She really became to sentimental. This dream was strange not only because she didn't know anybody in it, but also because she actually _knew_ that it was a dream. One is not allowed to know that he is in dream. That just couldn't possibly be. And if she knew she was sleeping, than why did she could not control this story?

Bending her head over the book, Hermione gasped in surprise, her brown eyes widening. Her mind was just playing with her! Looking around at the scenery she saw no sign of the red-headed boys. Stupid dream she couldn't even control. Frowning, she looked back at the book on her lap.

"… all our moves, impulses and urges in a dream are nothing more than the resistance to Death. And because Death is so strong, this resistance is too hard, even impossible. A dream is the repetition of your own Death, sometimes of the suicide. Don't you, my attentive reader, ever pondered about the nature of dreams? There is something suicidal in a person, who tries to fall asleep. If there were no night sleeps, than people would fall asleep forever, in the infinite dream. And what if it is true? What if your reality is just an imagination, a strange trick of your mind?..."

Well, that's enough! She needed to wake up. Wake up, you bloody Granger! Wake up!

* * *

Panting for breath like a fish on land, Hermione sat on her bed. What had just happened? She couldn't remember all the details of that dream, but she was certain that it was frightful. Not in the common way, but still frightful.

_Calm down, dear, calm down. You're in your bedroom, nothing to worry about. It's not your first nightmare, and certainly not the last one. Now you're going to go to the shower and forget everything about these fucking dreams._

Lowering her arm to the sheets, Granger suddenly felt something odd against her skin, and it was not the soft fabric. A piece of paper, if to be sure. With a strange feeling in her stomach and chest, she raised her arm to face to see what was written on that parchment. And at once threw it on the sheets, eyes wide with fear. Now that was really frightful.

"… in our dreams we are never surprised about the things that we'd be surprised in our real life. That is the nature of dreams. When we are in it, out of dream there is no other reality. And one more interesting thing – our age in dreams is vague; as the individual, subject of dream, we are people without actual age. That is because there is no time in dreams. And when there is no time than we are immortals. The fact of timelessness is the guaranty of eternity, a key to everlasting…"

* * *

Walking to the Great Hall, Hermione frowned slightly, thinking about what had happened. When she returned from the shower, there was just an empty piece of paper. And she also made a fool of herself, screaming for a while, when she saw that pretty fucking plain parchment. Her roommates just stared at her for a while, but, gratefully, they didn't say a word. Though she was sure that nobody would ever know about that incident, Granger was still embarrassed. Oh, such a humiliation! She was about to groan in anger, but remembered that she was in public, so she just frowned even more than she was doing previously. Hermione needed to take from Snape the Dreamless Potion, because without is she'd just become insane.

Hermione's life was like a census paper, filled with close clerk's handwriting – planned out, logical and predictable to the smallest detail. And she liked it. Everything, that wasn't common and threatened to destroy the habitual course of things, caused her irritation. Then Granger frowned, clutching lips into a thin line and tried as soon as possible to restore the order. But it didn't happen always. Like a vanishing steps on stairs, those strange dreams made her feel uncomfortable.

After the breakfast she went to the Ancient Runes' classroom, still deep in thoughts. Yes, the Dreamless Potion would definitely help. With a content sigh (she managed to make an order in her life again), she started to listen the lesson. It wasn't interesting, something about the difference between Ehwaz and Eihwaz runes.

Actually, Hermione liked this subject. As in Arithmancy, there was something relaxing and calm about the runes, the way they could be translating, about the strict rules she obediently followed. It was a thing of arithmantic beauty, if she did say to herself - pure, clean, precise - as only numbers could be.

"Attention, please", said Merrythought, raising her hand. "Now, who would like to answer about the meanings of these two actual runes? And what are their origins?"

Know-It-All Brown immediately raised her hand, almost vibrating on her seat. Stupid muggleborn Gryffindor, wasn't she? Suddenly, she started to turn her head from side to side, as if she urgently needed to find someone, and that someone was hiding - crawled under the desk or hidden by charms and was now chuckling. She looked around in despair, which disfigured her pretty face, also like the ugly tortoiseshell spectacles.

"Miss Brown, have you lost something?" asked Professor. Why all of a sudden Brown started to behave so unordinary? Where was her enthusiasm and why she abruptly lowered her raised hand? Hermione once again felt a strange sensation in her stomach. Anxiety. She didn't like when something was changing. In fact, she hated it.

Brown as always sat on the front row to better retell learned paragraphs from the book. Sometimes it seemed that in Brown's head there were solid shelves filled with dusty parchments and essays.

"N-no," she answered, stuttering.

Unusually timid, scared, with stupid pink ribbon in her hair, Lavender was not at all similar to the arrogant goose that yesterday chided Hermione's unacceptable behavior, catching her after lights in an empty classroom with Zabini.

- May I go out, sir? Get a headache.

Granger saw that Brown was lying. Her lie was clumsy and she kept tugging the sleeve of her cloak. She was permitted, though. Professor also offered her a conduct, although she refused. A girl only stared at her hopefully in one final glance, as if Hermione was the only person, who was able to help her. Slytherin didn't like that glance. It was searching, disturbing and did not fit into her ideal system. Another fucking vanishing step.


End file.
